


Noise

by Dee_Moyza



Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Moyza/pseuds/Dee_Moyza
Summary: The cheers and applause from Red's audience were deafening, drowning out all other sounds around Auden, and coaxing back a memory from his fighting days that he would rather forget.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Noise

**Author's Note:**

> In the absence of an official name for Unknown|Boxer|Mr. Nobody, I'll be using the name Auden, as found in the game's files.
> 
> (Written for a [fic prompt](https://deemoyza.tumblr.com/post/613813148304146432/send-me-characters-and-a-letter-and-ill-write) on Tumblr: "A deafening sound.")

The Empty Set, by virtue of its design, made Auden's job easy. There was good separation between the audience and the stage, access to a quick getaway through the backstage area, and a private dock off the side of the stage itself, for an even quicker getaway, if necessary. He just had to monitor the crowd, get Red offstage if they got too rowdy, and let venue security take care of the rest.

The outdoor stage on Halcyon Street was another matter entirely. Set up to provide entertainment for another one of Sybil's community extravaganzas, it was accessible on three sides, with large printed screens on either side of the stage to mimic wings, and short metal barricades the only obstacles between the stage and a crowd several times larger than a full house at the Empty Set. If anyone got rowdy here, getting Red to safety would be one hell of a task.

And then there was the noise. Not Red's singing, of course – _that_ was exquisite – but the noise of the crowd, starting at the end of the performance, when their applause turned to screaming and chanting, when they pushed and clamored over one another just to catch a glimpse of Red as she left the stage, and maybe get a handshake or an autograph, if they were lucky. Hundreds of voices, raised in excitement, layered one on top of the other to become a single, overwhelming sound, one that drowned out everything else save for the sound of blood pulsing in his ears.

It reminded him of being in the ring. On one evening, in particular.

He turned from the crowd toward Red, who was polishing off a bottle of water. She caught him looking and smiled, then rushed to cover her mouth to catch a few wayward streams. She swallowed the water and broke into a soft laugh. 

"Ready to go?" she asked.

He nodded, in agreement at first, then to the audience behind him. "I am," he said, "and you are. But do you think _they're_ ready to let you go?"

"Only one way to find out." She walked toward the stairs. The moment she emerged from behind the screen, a cheer went up from a section of the audience, and rippled through the crowd, growing louder still. Fans surged toward the barrier, and, instinctively, Auden stepped in front of Red, slowly guiding her back toward the stairs, blinking against hundreds of camera flashes, trying but failing to stop his thoughts from traveling back to that night, to the hot and overcrowded room halfway across town. 

⁂

Gib was as close a thing a guy could find to a coach in the back alleys of Baysign. A former fighter himself, with the scars and broken nose to prove it, he knew about all of the bouts happening across the city, both sanctioned and underground, and he knew just who to talk to to get a guy into one. He'd take a hefty cut of the winnings for himself, of course, because with enough success, his client would have no trouble navigating the circuit on his own, and old Gib needed something to live on while he waited for the next promising fighter to seek his services.

That he never seemed to run out said everything anyone needed to know about Baysign.

Today, he sat on a dented oil drum, across a narrow alley from Auden, and rattled off a list of locations and purses from a crumpled slip of paper. 

"Looks like you're in luck, Audie," he said. "Got a couple of golden opportunities here, depending on how much you wanna risk. If you wanna play it safe, Highrise has a tournament coming up. Official, regulated, all that goody-two-shoes crap. Purse's enough to keep a roof over your head for another month or two, though, and to keep me well-fed."

Auden nodded. "And the other?"

"Other one's out in Sunset, an unsanctioned deal. The host's a real hotshot who convinced the Administrators to look the other way. Lucky for us, he's prepared to share his wealth. Win here, and you're set for the rest of the year, maybe longer! And me …" Gib chuckled. "Let's just say, you won't be seein' me around for a good, long while."

"Sunset?" Auden snatched the paper and read it over. "Huh. Never expected them to have something like this. I figured it was too rough for 'em."

"Too rough?" Gib's chuckle became a full-blown laugh, which turned into a hacking cough. He slapped his knee until the coughing subsided, then paused to catch his breath. "You don't know these people at all, do ya, Audie? 'Rough' is exactly what they want. All the sweat and spit and blood. Lets 'em get out their frustrations, get a little thrill, from the safety of their seats." He reclaimed the paper and tried to smooth it out. "So, whaddaya say? Which'll it be?"

Auden leaned forward, elbows on knees, and picked at a hangnail on his thumb. The Highrise tournament paid well enough, and it was the safer bet. But the Sunset purse … he'd never seen a number that high on something within reach. Of course, Gib would help himself to most of it, but what was left would still last him far longer than his cut from Highrise would. And, more importantly, it would buy him more time. Time to find a steady job that paid decent, and get him out of this business before he ended up like Gib. He looked up to find Gib grinning at him, ear-to-ear.

"I can see them wheels turnin'," Gib said. "Sunset, right?"

"Right."

"Good choice. Lemme make a call, getcha all set up. Just think, this time next month, _all_ our problems could be over!" His expression darkened. "So long as you don't let me down."

"I won't."

"Better not." The shadow receded from Gib's face, giving way to another smile. "Well, I'm off!" He slid off the oil drum and started down the alley, whistling off-key.

⁂

Cloudbank's elite mostly lived in Highrise, but Sunset was where they played. Casinos, sports books, racetracks, arenas - all set against the backdrop of some of the most expensive properties in the city. Holiday homes, where the rich and beautiful would scurry off to after a night of revelry, too exhausted and inebriated to make the trip back across town.

Auden watched the buildings sparkle and gleam in the sunlight as the train pulled into the station, amazed that the ride hadn't taken very long at all, amazed that such little actual distance separated Baysign and Sunset. He shouldered his duffel bag and stepped out onto the platform, where Gib greeted him with a hearty slap on the back.

"There's my guy," he said, "right on time! Ready to get rich?"

Auden grinned; Gib's enthusiasm was contagious. "That's what I'm here for."

"And that's what I wanna hear! C'mon, I got car waiting, it'll take us to the venue. And I got a little last-minute info to share along the way."

Once he and Auden were in the car, Gib pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, larger than the last one, but in no better condition. "Percy Sweet," he said. "Your opponent tonight. Heard the name before?"

"You mentioned him last week." Auden shifted in his seat, and grumbled at the lack of legroom. 

"Yeah, but have you _heard_ it? Like, around town? From other fighters?"

"Can't say that I have. Should I?"

"We all should've. But once something gets outta Baysign, even the news, it sure as hell don't come back." Gib sighed and tapped the paper. "Sweet's your classic 'local boy makes good' story. Coached by his cousin — a guy I trained myself, years ago — he got lucky and won a few dinky tournaments here and there, and finally made enough to move his family into Goldwalk. He seems like a nice kid; crowds love him, promoters _adore_ him."

"But?"

"But the higher you go, opinions get split. Some people see him as what Cloudbank's all about, makin' your own way; others think he's gettin' too big for his britches, especially considering where he's from. There's no telling what side any organizer falls on. His coach told me he's even been bribed to lose a few times, but that kid just won't back down." Gib shrugged. "That's why you gotta do it for him."

"What?"

"Take him down, remind him where he's from. It's why his coach called _me_ for this match. He figured it'd be better for Percy to lose a bout at this point, to get all them higher-ups off his back. And if it's someone else from Baysign ... well, then they won't have to listen to any other districts gloating."

"Wait a minute, that's just —" Auden huffed and looked out the window. _Just what?_ Unfair? Crooked? Manipulative? That could describe almost any fight in Cloudbank. It was the nature of the sport: fighters were matched for maximum entertainment. He knew that behind every bout he'd fought, Gib and his opponent's coach were swapping info and making deals, but to be _part_ of a deal, to fight for more than money, left him feeling odd, heavy, discomfort settling like a layer of grease on his skin.

He felt dirty.

"That's just how it goes," Gib said. "Don't worry about Percy. His coach negotiated a hefty bonus for him if he loses. Hell, Percy's better off than either of us, anyway!"

"Does he know about this arrangement?"

"Doesn't matter. Like I said, the kid refuses to back down." Gib shoved the paper in his pocket, then glanced at Auden. "Oh, get that look off your face! Don't feel _sorry_ for him. And don't you dare go easy on him!"

"I don't plan to." Auden glared back, anger rising in his chest at Gib's implication. He'd never gone easy on anyone; he didn't have that luxury. He was determined to win this match, rigged or not, just to get away from Gib for a while. To get away from fighting and betting and scheming. To just _live_ for a bit.

"Good." Gib looked away.

Silence descended in the car, growing heavier by the moment, almost suffocating by the time the driver pulled up to a large, nondescript building tucked between extravagant apartment towers. Gib muttered that they had arrived, then turned on his smile again.

"C'mon, Audie, look alive!" he said, popping open his door before the driver cut off the engine. "It's time to get rich!"

⁂

He wished he had known about Percy Sweet. At least what Sweet looked like. If he had, he would've pulled out of the fight the moment he heard his name.

Going in blind, though, Auden could only blink and gape as Percy entered the ring. Thin and wiry, Percy Sweet was at least a head shorter than Auden, and barely out of his teens, if even that old. Auden knew the organizers of these unsanctioned fights disregarded weight classes, but this was ridiculous. He could snap Percy in half, if he wanted to. He could hurt him real bad.

Percy, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned with the size disparity between himself and Auden. Whether out of youthful hubris, or because his coach had actually done his job and familiarized Percy with his opponent, Percy waved and smiled at the crowd, then turned his smile on Auden. He bounced in his corner, then strode toward the center, his smile hardening into a sneer as he transformed into the fighter Gib had described.

_That kid just won't back down._

Auden walked out to meet him, hoping to change his mind with minimal damage.

No such luck.

By the middle of the fifth round, despite a cut along his eyebrow and his left eye swelling shut, Percy showed no signs of slowing down. For what he lacked in size, he made up for in speed, bobbing and weaving and ducking and sidestepping, slipping past Auden's guard to land good hits of his own. Every punch he didn't dodge sent him staggering backwards a couple feet, but he recovered quickly and charged forward, fiercer than before.

By the start of the seventh, however, his ferocity began to wane. He took longer to come back from each punch, leaving himself open for more. His own punches became wild and sloppy, and his footwork grew sluggish. Sensing an opportunity, Auden threw his weight behind a punch and connected with Percy's cheek, sending Percy flying back, landing hard on his backside. 

The crowd erupted in, as far as Auden could tell, an equal amount of cheers and jeers. Who they'd been rooting for had been a mystery from the beginning. They seemed to simply want the fight to continue, regardless of injury to the boxers.

They got their wish when, as the referee began his count, Percy raised himself, shakily, to his feet. He swiped at his face to check for blood, then fixed Auden with a grin that sent a chill through Auden's veins. The confidence was gone from Percy's expression, along with any sportsmanship and humanity; instead, his uninjured eye stared coldly ahead, his grin frozen even as he ran toward Auden again, arms flailing.

Auden stumbled backwards under this reckless assault, his own control faltering in frustration and anger. He was finally able to parry one of Percy's blows, and used the opening to knock him down again.

And again, Percy rose. The crowd went wild, rising from their seats, pouring down the aisles toward the ring, cameras flashing, cheers and taunts flying. The sound was deafening, drowning out Gib's voice, drowning out Percy's grunts, drowning out the sickening smack of gloves against skin. Auden shook his head and tried to block it out, tried to concentrate on the kid before him who looked as if he drew energy from all the commotion.

All grace was gone from both fighters' movements by the eighth round. During the break between rounds, as Auden strained to hear Gib's advice, he watched Percy argue with his coach in the opposite corner, and make a dismissive gesture as he headed back to the center of the ring. He came out swinging again, but caught Auden's glove directly to the mouth a few seconds in, and crumpled to the canvas. He stared at the blood dripping onto the canvas beneath him, as if wondering where it was coming from, then pushed himself up yet again.

This kid was insane. Auden tried to weather the next flurry of attacks, but caught Percy's glove on his cheek, and felt his skin split against the bone. The heat of the blood running down his face matched that of the adrenaline shooting through his body, and the anger and frustration he'd been keeping in check finally broke free. He parried Percy's next punch and took a step toward him, the noise of the crowd fading beneath the pounding in his ears, his vision darkening around the edges, bringing Percy's face into sharp focus. He drew himself up straight, looming over Percy, then attacked.

He threw punch after punch, his full weight behind each of them, powering through Percy's defenses, backing Percy up against the ropes, forcing him into a corner. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered the crowd's frenzied reaction, and that stoked the fire inside his chest even more. If Percy wanted to fight rough, he'd give him rough. If he really wanted to die out here, then … then …

Percy grunted louder with each punch that connected, unable to keep his arms in a defensive position, struggling for balance as he was driven back. Then, as a surprise to Auden, and possibly even himself, his voice cracked. It was a small sound, one that would've been swallowed up in the raucous noise surrounding them, if not for its proximity, but it was enough to cut through Auden's adrenaline-fueled haze. He didn't immediately stop his offensive, only slowly recognizing the change in Percy's voice, the crisp grunts giving way to desperate squeals, and realizing, with a sinking feeling, what he was doing.

He was beating up a kid. 

Insane or not, Percy was still a _kid_ , one who was physically outmatched, one who had no business being in this particular ring in this particular event, no business feeding the audience's bloodlust. One who Auden might have hurt beyond repair in his momentary lapse of control. 

Auden gave a few more half-hearted punches, then stepped back, hearing the crowd's shift toward disapproval. He didn't care. He didn't care about the purse anymore, or about what Gib would have to say. He didn't care about giving this crowd what they wanted, what Percy _thought_ he wanted when he kept hauling himself off the canvas. If Percy really intended to die in the ring, that was his choice, but Auden sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to kill him.

Percy glanced up through his good eye, and pushed himself off the ropes. He advanced, stumbling and weaving, his swings clumsy and ill-timed. All Auden had to do was position himself just right, leave himself open in just the right way, and …

The blow caused his vision to flash, and he tumbled to the canvas. The fall was real; he only hoped he could sell the rest. He lay very still, focusing on his breathing and letting the noise of the crowd fill his mind, until he heard the referee reach ten and declare the fight over. The crowd grew louder still, and somewhere in his exhaustion and relief, Auden drifted off.

⁂

He had a bruise on his right cheekbone to match the one Percy had given him on the left, courtesy of Gib's knuckles. Gib tended to speak with his fists when his words failed him, and, after incoherently stringing together every curse word he knew, interspersed with the words "money," "worthless," and "finished," he drove home his point with a few more solid punches.

Auden took the hits as they came, unable to defend his decision in the ring to someone like Gib. When Gib had finally spent himself and stalked out of the changing room, Auden turned to the mirror and began dressing his injuries. A knock on the doorframe startled him, and he turned to see Percy, frowning and shaking his head, his left eye covered with a gauze patch and his upper lip swollen.

"Just came to check up on you, man," Percy lisped. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Auden smiled. "Thanks for asking."

"Sure. But don't expect me to thank _you_."

"Thank me? For what?"

Percy coughed out a short, dry laugh. "Who do you think you're foolin'? You were beating the crap out of me, and then you just keel over like that? You threw that match."

Auden tensed. Percy walked in and sat down.

"Listen," he continued, "I don't need your pity. I don't _want_ it. You put up a good fight. You should've finished it."

"By finishing you?"

"If that's what it takes, yeah. I know what I'm doing, I know what might happen." He glanced up at Auden and made a face. "Hey, I hauled my own ass out of Baysign, and my ma's and my sister's too. A year ago, we were all knee-deep in fish guts, now we're comfortable, we've got stuff, stuff of our _own._ I don't wanna lose that. I don't wanna go back, ever. That's why, for me, it's either win or … y'know … _whatever_."

"What about your family? Money dries up real quick once you're dead."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. A warning. These unsanctioned bouts, they're not normal. People want blood –"

"And they got it, courtesy of your fists –"

"—and they don't give a damn about experience or weight class. You and me should've never been in the ring together. The next guy you fight might not go easy on you."

Percy scoffed. "Like you did?"

"Yeah."

"I get what you're saying, but like I told you, I know what I'm doing. I never wanna go back. If there's a paying ring, I'm there." Percy rose. "I don't need your help, or your lecture. Why don't you go back to Baysign and work on growin' a pair? Maybe then, you'll finish what you start." He walked out without waiting for a reply.

Auden sighed and returned to his bandages, wondering if anything he'd said had resonated with Percy. He wondered whether letting Percy win was as selfless a move as he'd thought it was, or if he'd only made the situation worse.

He never would find out.

He heard Percy's name come up at a few tournaments after that, then, _nothing_. He hoped Percy had found somewhere else to direct his energy, some safer way to make money. Maybe his sister and his mother had found jobs of their own. Maybe he'd decided to settle down and build a stable life, or learn a trade. Maybe everything was all right.

But maybe …

Maybe that was hoping for too much.

⁂

Auden shook away the memories as event security reinforced their presence along the barrier of the Halcyon Street stage. The crowd backed up a few feet, but made up for the greater distance in increased volume. He couldn't hear anything over their cheers; he couldn't even hear Red, but he felt her shoulders shaking as she leaned her back against his, and knew she'd found something amusing about the situation. 

He felt a light, warm weight against the outside of his thigh, a gentle pressure that sliced through his apprehension and troubled thoughts, and he instinctively reached back to brush his fingers against Red's wrist. He felt her laugh again, and this time he swore he heard her. Her hand left his leg to twine her fingers through his, and she squeezed his hand – once, twice, three times – before sweeping out from behind him to greet her fans, drifting on the noise and commotion as effortlessly as a boat on gentle waters. In between handshakes and photos and autographs, she glanced back at him and smiled, dazzling and reassuring, sending a him message no sound could ever drown out.


End file.
